


(in)sensitivity

by symphorophilia (klismaphilia)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Dysphoria, Castration, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emperor Kylo Ren, Explicit Sexual Content, Gaslighting, M/M, Mental Instability, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/symphorophilia
Summary: Kylo had never taken care of his toys.Armitage Hux was still all too eager to play the part of his pliant doll.





	(in)sensitivity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cracktheglasses (cormallen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/gifts).



> For Alex <3 thank you so much for being a great friend. I can honestly count the number of people in my life that I feel as comfortable talking to as you on one hand. I think it's partially the issue of always having been too mature for my age, and in a lot of ways too dark for any age, and you seem to just get things that I don't know if I could word easily with other people. I really hope you like this, man. And extra congrats for your start on T!!
> 
>  
> 
> PLEASE HEED THE TAGS.
> 
> Semi-fill for the KHK prompt: Castration. General Hux’s only job during sex is to lie there and take it. He doesn’t need his balls, or really even his dick. Bonus points if he doesn’t want anything removed, but is forced to.
> 
> It turned into a psychological gaslighting thing though. O.E

 

Hux aches.

 

He aches, he _is aching,_ some sort of throbbing, incessant pain that pulses through his lower body, demanding his attention. All of his limbs feel numb; lily-white appendages laid out amongst a slew of stark grey sheets, tucked up around his waist as his hands sit atop the rumpled creases, palm-up and immobile.

 

He thinks that he could move if he wanted; but right now, his mind has fallen into a chaotic, endless void of pseudo-catatonia. He has no desire to use his body, no desire to fumble aimlessly as he attempts to complete the tasks he’d once taken to with vigor. Hux does not have any desire to remind himself of his _fragility,_ not by voicing useless whimpers and spilling out unhinged rhetoric as he tries to convince himself that he is still a capable leader, a _fearsome General._

 

 _Point,_ Hux mentally notes, his muscles tightly wound as he shifts just enough to ease the pressure on his knotted shoulders, eyelashes fluttering in a nostalgic distortion. _It is useless to waste your time by longing for things that are outside your control._

 

 _(Addition,_ his mind interjects from some far-off place in the recesses of his consciousness. _What would Brendol think of you now, his pathetic, bastard child? Disgusting.)_

 

Hux, despite his tendency to isolate problems with a blunt response, does not want to consider the answer to that statement. Brendol’s voice has been ingrained in him since his youth, still ruling over whatever sentience he’d managed to retain in adulthood no matter how much effort he'd put forth in purging that influence from his mind.

 

But, he supposes, there’s a grain of truth to the statement, even when it echoes past insecurities.

 

_Disgusting._

 

He is disgusting.

 

He didn’t say no to the surgery, after all.

 

A hand, still and frail and soft like a civilian’s, twitches uncertainly as Hux begins to move it to the edge of the soft linen he lies on. Trembling fingers curl beneath the poorly-stitched hem of the fabric, tugging the sheet free from where it clings about his waist as he slides the hand beneath to press at himself.

 

From here, he can barely see the swathe of dirty bandages that layer his pelvis, coming together over the _empty_ space between his legs. His nails scrabble softly against the blood-stained coverings, until he finds the courage to slip his arm across his abdomen and angle his hand to slide down to the now-clear divot of his groin, the flat expanse where a cock had once been.

 

Kylo said it would be better like this.

 

But then, Kylo says quite a lot of things, many of which Hux knows to be lies. He is a man who built his existence on a lie, who navigates his life with an array of fallacies that have somehow gifted him _power._ And oh, what a _tremendous_ power it is! The most bereaved force-user in the galaxy, who _singlehandedly_ brought about the fall of the resistance, the death of his master.

 

The bloody Emperor, whose altruism lies atop a foundation of severed limbs and brittle bones.

 

Hux loves him.

 

( _He doesn’t, really, and he shouldn’t. Out of all the mistakes he’d made, nothing would ever amount to the error of submitting himself to Kylo Ren, signing his body, mind and sovereignty over to an unstable man almost madder than himself.)_

 

 _(But he says he does. He says that he_ loves _Kylo Ren, that he wants to love him, that he always will. Maybe if he says it enough it’ll start to feel true.)_

 

It started with a belt, Hux recalls, as his fingers begin to feel along the edge of the bandages, wondering whether or not it’s safe for him to tear them free. The belt, as it was, had been even more revolting than the layers of bloody bacta strips-- a ghastly length of peeling black leather that he’d allowed Kylo to use on him after the first time they’d gone to bed together. The Knight had strung his wrists up above his head with it, kept it tight and stiff and unyielding around Hux’s rubbed-raw flesh. He’d laid beneath Kylo in a frenzy of anticipation, legs spread and neck bared, once-callous green eyes lingering on the expanse of elaborate wallpaper with a line of sweat built over his spine.

 

“See? It’s better like this, isn’t it?” Kylo murmured, his lips just grazing along the shell of Hux’s ear. He’d pinned him like a captive prisoner to an interrogation chair, the bondage only sinking Hux further into the inescapable restraint of a sick relationship. Kylo’s hand slid about his waist to press at the rippling lines of his overt ribcage, one thumb eagerly flicking across a dusky-pink nipple, his eyes brimming with obsessive hubris as he spoke. “So much _better_ when you’re under my control, General. I know how stressed you are, having to play the part of the lifeless commander…”

 

Hux had nodded, incensed. _Desperate._ Desperate to relinquish control, to have someone steal the stress and exhaustion and self-loathing away from him, keep him anchored and kept as a soft thing that was deserving of touch. Deserving of… _care, concern, validation,_ anything other than the enmity of his subordinates and the revulsion of his enemies who watched with dead-eyed melancholy as they waited for him to fail at his duty, _disgrace_ himself just as his father always said he would.

 

His job during sex had been little more than to lie there and take it, with knees hiked up to his shoulders and legs flailing in position near his head, flipped onto his stomach as his hips were seized in a grip of avarice, his body opening for the strain of Kylo’s cock, thick and full in the heat of their couplings, enough weight that it could snap the _too-thin-too-weak_ General Hux in half providing Kylo desired that. Kylo never wanted him to speak as they fucked, filthy and irreverent thrusts and a deviant openness that lingered long after the Knight decided to take his leave. He’d made haste of that part in a way he’d never done with anything else, hurriedly pulling his robes together and making for the door while Hux laid spent on the bed, his sickly flesh bruised and come dribbling out from his spasming hole.

 

Kylo had never taken care of his toys, and yet Armitage Hux had been all too eager to climb into his bed to play the part of his pliant doll.

 

Hux’s own touch feels contemptuous, now, with the heap of bandages come undone and laid in a neat pile beside one twitching leg. Two bony, vile digits trace across his tainted flesh, drawing up across the surgical incision. Haphazard stitches layer the skin, still sensitive to the touch in a way his manhood had never been. Rustlike blood shades the inside of his thighs, spread apart just enough to see the clear stretch down from his navel, a flat expanse of torn-up flesh all the way down to his perineum.

 

Idly, his index finger traces over the strangely maimed flesh, feeling for an opening, as though he might be able to puncture the now-closed wound and let the blood run free once more, some futile attempt to save his own dignity.

 

Kylo claimed he was _preserving_ it, at first-- preserving Hux’s revolting secret, his uncouth desire to be broken down and stretched thin before a commanding presence. He’d grinned as he slipped his hand inside the unbuttoned trousers of Hux’s primly-pressed uniform, feeling for the device which kept the burden of his command pinned down inside metal bars, the thin straps circling his waist and holding in all the perversions Armitage Hux could not control.

 

“You’re so _beautiful,”_ Ren told him, running a finger up over the curve of Hux’s spine, tracing each of his protruding vertebrae as they stood out from the shifting arch of his back. “So _small_ and delicate underneath that uniform of yours. Having to pretend to be something you aren’t… it must grow so difficult, Hux. Must be such a strain on you, forced to maintain that facade of apathy…”

 

He kissed the smooth skin of Hux’s neck. Reverent. _Possessive._ “I like having you underneath me,” the man mumbled, his tone so willowy and hushed it appeared somehow childish. “Do you like it too, Hux? Surrendering?”

 

And Hux, as always, would merely nod his head in agreement, _yes, Ren, always, everything you say is true, you know what I want._

 

_(No, I don’t want this, it’s too much, with you pushing and demeaning me, with me lying here pliant and open as though I were a sex worker and not a General.)_

 

 _(No, I don’t know what I want, because I don’t even know what I am, I just want to_ feel something, _I want to_ feel wanted, _do you really want me, Ren? Or do you just want to see how far you can push before I finally shatter?)_

 

In some of the moments between Ren’s biting degradation and his subtle affection, Hux had thought about ending it himself. Not only severing the frayed cord of their relationship, but sliding a knife into Ren’s throat and throwing his self-preservation out the airlock along with the excess weight of an unneeded lover bogging him down. He considered how stunned Ren would be, how his face would play through shock, betrayal, even _horror_ as his blood spurted out over Hux’s _frail, soft_ hands, how he might fall forward against Hux’s squared shoulder as he _finally,_ **_finally_ ** manages to understand. He imagines lovely lines of scarlet spilling out from Ren’s plush lips, thinks if he felt accommodating he might kiss him and lick it away himself, just to revel in the taste of Ren’s spite.

 

 _Do you really think you still appear as untouchable and proper as you once did, Armitage? Don't you think your little subordinates can tell what's really under that uniform, you desperate little slut?_ Kylo said instead, running his tongue down the crease of Hux’s leg, biting at his soft thighs and scoring deep, purple hickies along each inch of his pale flesh.

 

And Hux was his to mark. Hux was _his,_ and so it didn’t matter in the end. It didn’t matter if he’d willingly signed over all his autonomy, discarded his authority the moment Kylo dumped Snoke’s severed head at his feet, kissed him demandingly with black eyes full of joy because _we can be together now, Hux, nobody’s going to stop me from having you, not now, because I want all of you and you’re_ mine, _you’re mine, you’re mine._

 

 _You’re mine,_ he said as he pressed Hux back onto the cold metal of his desk and ripped the seam of his uniform trousers to throw them aside so he could properly claim the body he desired. _You’re mine,_ he’d continued, when he’d slammed his dick into Hux’s quivering asshole, the thin skin splitting apart to accommodate his monstrous girth, Hux’s blood spilling out around his cock to ease the unsanctimonious demands of their union.

 

 _We should do the rest,_ Kylo said. _You’ve given yourself to me, but it’s not enough, not yet. The first part was so good, Hux, we should do the rest, I know how much you’ve wanted it, it’s just there in the back of your mind. All that stress, all that turmoil, all that_ insecurity… _I can help you be free of it, won’t you let me? It won’t hurt, I’ll make sure it’s painless for you. Please,_ he’d continued as he grasped hold of Hux’s cock with a bruising clench, thumbing over the leaking head while he rested his skull atop the General’s own. _Please, I_ know _you want it. I want it too._

 

He did want it.

 

_(He’d never wanted it.)_

 

Hux falls in on himself with a cry as he jams his nail deep against the seam of his stitches, wondering whether it’s blood or a venomous ichor that’s spilling out across his fingertip. He presses along the swell of his demanding entrance, legs angled as far apart as they could get and knees pulled up as he exposes himself to the chill of the room. Rushed, spit-slick fingers probe at his hole, urgent to ready himself before Kylo returns, to reward him for this _(horrible)_ wonderful gift, the gift that Hux hadn’t even _known_ he’d wanted, wouldn’t have been able to admit without Kylo’s assistance.

 

(He fingers himself open and lays a hand over the hideous scar left from his castration and hates himself for his acquiescence.)

 

When Ren pushes into the room, Hux writhes, still and captive among the grey sheets and satin pillows, a patron saint of pitiful creatures. A creature that's alive as much as it is dead, Hux reaches out with one shaking, frigid arm, wordlessly asking for Kylo to come to him.

 

“Please,” he cries as Kylo lays soothing, gentle kisses to the tear-streaked skin of his face, wiping away the bile clinging to the edges of his mouth. His hand cards through messy ginger locks, massaging the soreness of a lingering migraine still in Hux’s scalp, calming him with a devotion that Hux is _certain_ he's never experienced.

 

“Shh. You're alright, princess,” the _brute_ begins, placing a chaste kiss to Hux’s vomit-laced lips. “It's okay, Armitage, it's _okay._ I'm here now, I'm here, blossom. Shh. I know it hurts, but you're going to feel _so much_ happier, baby, I _feel it.”_

 

“Please,” Hux says again, and he doesn't even know what he's pleading for.

 

“So _good,_ Armitage, so beautiful. And mine, all mine, aren't you? Even got yourself ready for me. It's so surreal, isn't it?” The pause is menacing. “What do you think your subordinates would say if they knew what I've done to you, what you _let_ me do? You were so powerful, and yet I don't know if I would ever be able to look you in the face again, if you weren't so pfaasking beautiful. Nobody could ever take orders from you again, not when they see how _weak_ you are, you poor little thing.”

 

Kylo clambers onto the bed beside him, folding Hux into his strong embrace, promising protection and guidance and _care._ Hux sags against him and keens beneath the touch, because Kylo was right, _Brendol was right,_ he's worthless and pitiful and _how could anyone ever want something so broken?_

 

“Kylo,” Hux weeps, his breath labored and hesitant. “ _Please._ Please love me.”

 

Kylo kisses Hux’s neck, buries his face in the crook of it as his arms sling tight about Hux’s waist. He rubs the sexless area of his crotch reassuringly, a warm weight that has remained at his side even as Hux lost everything else.

 

“I do, Hux, I _do_. You'll _always_ be mine."


End file.
